


Responsible

by AllyinthekeyofX



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, MSR, Post-I Want to Believe, Pre-Season/Series 10, Season/Series 10 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyinthekeyofX/pseuds/AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: But as I watch the harsh light of the ambulance interior swallowing him up, his inert form broken and bleeding once again, I am starkly reminded of how stupid I have been.  That somewhere along the way I had forgotten the man Mulder is.  The intensity that burned as brightly within him as it ever did, intensity tempered through years of inactivity but never extinguished.  Just waiting for a spark to ignite it once again, sending him spiralling back in to the darkness I stupidly imagined no longer had a hold on him and the tears start to gather, my throat closing as I realise that this is my fault; that I am responsible for all of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaroBertaud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaroBertaud/gifts).



> This picks up from where Mulder is hospitalised following the events of the second movie (I want to believe) and Scully’s reactions when Skinner comes to her with some startling news. I’m not yet sure how long it will be but will take us up to ‘My Struggle II’ It will alternate between Scully’s POV and Mulders POV  
> Disclaimer – Legally they don’t belong to me and as such I make no money out of them. Morally they belong to all of us. We deserve it after all these years ;)

ONE - Post IWTB

I watch as the EMT’s load Mulder on to the stretcher. He is wrapped loosely in a foil blanket, the kind they throw around marathon runner’s shoulders as they cross the finish line on the verge of collapse, a way to conserve body heat, to stop the system from falling in to shock after the rigours it has been put through. I’ve never understood why anyone would want to push themselves beyond the physical limits the body is designed for, to keep running until limbs are loose, feelings numb as the adrenaline peaks and barriers are broken.

But tonight, that’s what Mulder did. Only his version of running was to battle the elements in his singular quest to find the truth, almost killing himself in the process of gaining affirmation for God knows what – his sense of worth perhaps, a final acknowledgement that despite the years that have passed, that he can make a difference, that he still has a place in a world that for almost a decade has pretty much denied his very existence.

I am lucky – if that word can ever be used to refer to either of us – at least in the sense that I have managed to carve out a semblance of a life for myself and while my career in medicine hasn’t exactly covered me in glory, it has garnered within me a self respect that is just adequate to keep my demons at bay, to keep me from just closing my eyes and letting the past overwhelm me. I have a purpose; no longer merely a half of a team that spent long years chasing shadows that were as elusive as they were suffocating, shadows that stole our souls and destroyed us in increments as the darkness spiralled downwards and we spiralled right along with it and for a very long time it lived within me, clouding my every waking moment with regrets and self recrimination of choices made so long ago that set my feet on a path that seemingly had no end; a path that almost took him from me.  
I remember that night in my apartment as though it were yesterday and occasionally, when the darkness surrounds me in the stillness of the night I hear the voice of John Doggett inside my head, those four words that shattered me in ways I thought were inconceivable each one delivered like a dagger to my heart and everything, everything I had gone through in the previous years had simply fallen away in to insignificance.

Death

By

Lethal

Injection

Four words that rendered me incapable of speech, of rational thought as the blood seemed to turn to ice in my veins, as my heart almost broke free from me along with any semblance of sanity I had fought so hard to hold on to during the previous terrible months. Knowing that he was to be taken from me and that this time there was to be no miraculous return from the dead; that he would just be gone from my life as though he had never existed at all, without ever giving me a chance to really love him, to be with him, to make amends for my decision to give away our precious son. So much loss, so much pain that I literally just started to sob in to my hands, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to see past those words that stole every shred of hope away from me. Because we had failed; in every conceivable way we had failed and right then, our failure was finally coming home to roost, that they were going to kill him. Finally, irrevocably he would be taken from me.

I don’t remember much after that. John told me later that I had started to scream; that my cries had escalated with such intensity that eventually I had collapsed in a boneless unresponsive heap on the polished hardwood floor; that the shock and the grief had been so intense that I had simply shut down; was unreachable in any palpable way as my mind refused to adequately process the horror of those four words; a way of protecting myself from completely unravelling right there on my apartment floor.

I woke up almost 24 hours later to feel a hand gently squeezing mine and for a single breathtaking moment I had allowed myself to imagine he was right there with me, while knowing even then that it couldn’t be so. But I had forced my eyes open nevertheless, my breathing gone harsh and ragged as I fought against the sedative that I discovered later, the hospital had administered in an attempt to allow my mind to rest; to repair itself before lasting damage was done; not knowing of course that the damage had begun a long time ago; by a sequence of events that had been meticulously planned and executed from the start. To destroy Mulder. To destroy me. 

But as I finally locked eyes with my boss, a man who had risked everything in the past to stay allied to us, I had a moment of clarity so blinding it literally took my breath away. Because right there, right then, I knew that he wasn’t going to allow this to happen. That he would take a final gamble to save Mulder, to save us all. And he had leaned forwards, still holding on to my hand as he brought the other to my face where he rested it gently on my cheek, an action so reminiscent of Mulder that I could barely stand it, brought his face close to mine to deliver his message; his words whispered softly in my ear that somehow allowed me to come back; that suddenly there was just the tiniest spark of light in the darkness.

*We’re going to get him.*

And against all the odds, he had prevailed. He had delivered Mulder back to me and we had survived. Together, somehow, we had survived and despite how enormous the stakes had become, we had somehow managed to carve out a life for ourselves. By anyone’s standards it could never be described as a normal life, but it was life nonetheless and we would take it – we had taken it. And in as much as we were able to lay our demons to rest, we were happy and we settled for what we could get because it was after all, so much more than we had ever dared hope it would be.

We were alive; we were together; we were slowly repairing the damage those long hard years had wrought upon us and truly, I had started to allow myself to hope that things would be okay. That the worst was behind us.

Until that terrifying day when the FBI came calling, stopping me in the corridor and rendering me almost speechless with fear as John’s words came crashing back to me from so long ago. As I vainly tried to appear normal, stuffing my hands in to the pockets of my lab coat lest the sudden trembling give away my lies. Because I was so sure that they had finally come to take him away from me I was already planning our escape; prepared as I was to simply go get Mulder and start running again, that whatever it took I would try to keep us safe.

And I think that’s what prompted me to do what I did. That as the realisation set in that they were seeking out Mulder for wholly different reasons, finally, this was a way to end this for both of us; to allow us to stop running.  
So I had heaped the pressure on him to acquiesce to their request. To make the deal they offered that with minimal effort on our part would put an end to all the darkness and the fear and the daily unease that perhaps this would be the day that they would come for him. 

But as I watch the harsh light of the ambulance interior swallowing him up, his inert form broken and bleeding once again, I am starkly reminded of how stupid I have been. That somewhere along the way I had forgotten the man Mulder is. The intensity that burned as brightly within him as it ever did, intensity tempered through years of inactivity but never extinguished. Just waiting for a spark to ignite it once again, sending him spiralling back in to the darkness I stupidly imagined no longer had a hold on him and the tears start to gather, my throat closing as I realise that this is my fault; that I am responsible for all of it.

Continued chapter two


	2. Two - Post IWTB

 

I remember telling Mulder once that I'd lost sight of myself, that my life had become an endless line: one step forward and two steps back. At the time I thought I was sure about what I meant that I had a handle on just where my life was going wrong.

So, for the first time in my life, I chose to run. Not in the literal sense, of course. Not my way, never has been. I've bravely faced down all the dangers that we have encountered - sometimes with him by my side, sometimes alone - somehow knowing that the direction I had chosen, the *path* as Melissa once so poetically put it, was the right one for me.

And even as I had fled from all the horrors within me, seeking solitude, grasping solace, trying to deny all the things I feared, I knew somehow that I would always return to him. That my place was to be beside him. Just as his was to be with me.

I had pushed him away for so many years, ruthlessly denied all he could offer. I had watched helplessly as he in turn watched me. Felt his anguish as he tried in vain to ease my pain, knowing implicitly that he would gladly bear it for me if he could.

But pain is a burden meant to be felt. I think sometimes it's what separates us from the evil that exists in the world.

Take away the pain and we are bereft, left to search hopelessly for our place in life. My Father once told me that in order to benefit from the joy we have to walk hand in hand with the sadness. I don't remember when he told me that, but I hear his words inside my head as though it were yesterday. A small fragment of my childhood, filed away in my heart, meant to comfort during the dark times; to offer the solace I so desperately need.

My life, such as it is, was once so simple.

I can still remember a time not so very long ago when I viewed all that it offered with an almost childlike naivety. To me my choices were black and white and I chose a path that would enable me to fight the evil whilst protecting the good. But somewhere along the line I forgot to protect those I loved the most and that the quest - if I can reduce it to such simple terms - became all consuming yet still it was almost easy to justify my losses when balanced against the work we did.

Not so easy is the realisation that somewhere along the line I forgot to protect myself. I became complacent. I allowed him to curl his fingers around the barriers I had so carefully constructed, gaining purchase on my heart with every passing day. It wasn't something I ever wanted - not because I didn't want him - but because I didn't want to ever have to deal with losing him. 

All futile now of course as I see the face in the mirror staring back at me, because once again, I had almost lost him. 

The woman who stares back at me looks tired; a face that once shone with the healthy vibrancy of youth has become older. The tiny lines that are etched on my skin a result of spilled blood and scalding tears that fell heavily on the path I chose and I blink suddenly at the realisation that I no longer know who this woman is.

Because the woman I used to be was strong enough to know implicitly that what she did, every decision she made, was on the side of right – was clearly and thoroughly broken down and assimilated with a strict scientific detachment that allowed no room for sentiment or self indulgence. But now, I finally realise that woman is gone for good, that somewhere along the way I have lost her.

Because today, as Mulder lay deeply unconscious in yet another stark white bed in yet another stark white room I took the cowards’ way out. I made a decision for him that I am more than aware I had no right to do. A decision based not on rationale, but on pure blind terror that I would lose him again.

I think Skinner was more than a little surprised by both my unwavering resolve and the venom I found myself directing at my erstwhile boss as he stood before me in the corridor outside Mulders room, having pulled me away from his bedside to deliver a message that I had hoped never to hear. That Mulders involvement and assistance in this case had not gone unnoticed by the powers within the FBI and that they felt, now that hatchets had been discarded and the past now being the past, that maybe, *just maybe*, they could again find a spot for Fox Mulder and his beautiful mind within the corridors of that vast building that still echoed in my mind with memories of just how desperate our very existence had once been. An existence brought upon in us in no small way by the very institution that wanted him back.

“Tell them to go fuck themselves”

And Skinner had quite literally rocked back on his heels as though my words actually had form and substance. In other circumstances, the expression on his face might have been amusing, hearing me speak in a way he probably had never expected me to ever be capable of. But people change. I had changed. Almost two years of constantly moving, of never staying in one place for more than a day or two, of looking over our shoulders lest the darkness be closing in on us. Of missing my son, my family, the life I had once led with such painful intensity that on some days I couldn’t even find it within me to get up off whichever uncomfortable bed in whichever bland motel room had happened to come along to take us wearily off the road for a few short hours. Feeling Mulder beside me, knowing without even having to ask him, that yet another night had passed for him without the healing sleep he so desperately needed, plagued as he was with visions and nightmares brought on by what they had done to him. Refusing to let go of his hold on my hand, tethering me to him in his desperation to know I was with him. That he wasn’t alone.

*That I wouldn’t leave him.*

And sometimes I felt the panic closing in on me like a vice; panic at what we had done, all we had left behind. Two fugitives without resources, without direction and without any kind of perceivable strategy that might keep us alive in the next hour, the next day, the next week.

But we had somehow made it through those first frightening years, eventually finding the courage to stop running as the hope that we were no longer of enough interest to waste the Bureau’s valuable and over-stretched resources in continuing to search for us. We bought the house, ensuring we chose carefully. Selecting a property that couldn’t be viewed from the road, a plain wooden house that was so ordinary in appearance it could never be imagined that the two people who resided within it had such an extraordinary history. And even then, it had taken us a long time to start to relax; to start to live again and I realised that over time, Mulders paranoia that I had gently teased him about way back at the beginning of our partnership had crept up on me and become mine; just as his quest had swallowed me up right along with him.

They had stolen our lives, our very existence and if we hadn’t had each other I don’t think we could have survived.

And now, the very institution that had heaped such heartbreak on to the both of us now wanted him back. Let bygones be bygones. Let sleeping dogs lie - which would be all well and good if only we had been able to do the same. But the pain for us was still there, hovering just below the surface ready to make itself known in a moment of weakness, rising up to disturb our dreams and slice open wounds that were nowhere near healed. We didn’t talk much about it – we didn’t need to. Because in some inexplicable way, we each knew when the other was hurting and how to make things right again. We had an unbreakable bond that was born on the back of so much collective heartbreak and that knowledge had allowed me to carry on; a knowledge that whatever happened in our future, that would never change.

So it had come as an unwelcome and unexpected shock to find that within hours of the missing persons file being handed to Mulder, I had become secondary to his quest just as I had been so many years before as he became absorbed in the need for justice, the need to make a difference, the need to right a wrong. And that if I came along for the ride, well that was great but if not he would, as he always had, simply go it alone. 

And with no protection, no weapon and no support he had rushed heedlessly in to a situation that had almost got him killed. On some level I admire him for it, but mostly I want to just wrap him in cotton wool in that little house of ours and keep him safe from himself. 

So I had let Skinner know in no uncertain terms what I thought of the offer he had brought with him. He had argued of course, stating quite rightly that this wasn’t my decision to make, knowing without question that Mulder would take a wholly different stance on it than the one I had, but I think deep down he knew - knew that returning to the Bureau was not the right thing for Mulder – at least not like this.

I had bowed my head in a vain attempt to hide the tears that had gathered in my eyes, pooling against my lids as I tried to hold them back, unwilling even now to show weakness to the man who had been my friend and superior for so many years. A man who never stopped fighting for us in subtle ways that it took many years for me to understand; to understand just what he himself had sacrificed to help keep us alive.

“If he goes back it will eventually kill him” I had whispered, my voice cracking and breaking as I fought to hold on to my composure, finally raising my eyes to meet his concerned gaze. “And I can’t lose him again...I won’t allow it to happen”

And finally, he had understood. His hand soft on my cheek as he caught the single tear that had, despite my every effort, escaped from its confines and zig zagged down my face, nodding almost imperceptibly even as he began to turn away.

“I’ll tell them.”

Just like that. No more arguing, no more cajoling; he had simply turned on his heel and left. Because he knew. He knew I was right.

But that doesn’t make the guilt I’m now feeling any easier to bear as I stand in the small bathroom attached to my partners hospital room, scrutinising myself in the tiny mirror that adorns the wall above the sink. I have splashed my face with cold water in an attempt to rid myself of the feelings of revulsion my own conscience is now heaping upon me because I know what I have just done, the decision I just took for him was in no way my decision to make. And I know that if he were to ever discover what I have done, he will not be able to find it in himself to forgive me. 

I leave the bathroom then and cross back to the bed where he lays, quietly unresponsive to my presence, just as he has been since we arrived here almost 48 hours ago. But he will be fine – this time he will be fine. A nasty concussion, hypothermia and shock jostle for position alongside the two cracked ribs and multiple contusions that resulted from his latest sojourn in to the unknown. But he will heal in time. The bones will knit, the bruises will fade just as they always have and he will come back to me just as he always has. I take his hand in mine, wrapping my fingers around his, squeezing gently to remind him that I am here with him for as long as it takes. Because to leave him in any sense is unthinkable; he is as necessary to me now as the air that I breathe and I was stupid to ever think otherwise – a moment of madness born out of a crazy day – and right there and then, as he breathes peacefully beside me, I lean forwards and lightly brush my fingers through his hair, sweeping it away from his forehead and drop a kiss to the centre, praying as I do so that the choice I made for him today was the right one.

Continued chapter 3


End file.
